


What Happens in Los Santos

by Vav



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, F/M, FakeHaus, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7490769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vav/pseuds/Vav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It ain't as easy as it looks, they just make it look good.</p><p>T for minor violence (nothing graphic), language, and sexual references. Rating may change.</p><p>A commission for rogueofpandas (AO3) / ryanthelovelyguy (tumblr).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Spencer for commissioning me and giving me a ton of stellar ideas for my first fakehaus fic! I hope this chapter serves as some sort of exposition; look out for the next one. There may be a prize inside that bowl of honey nut feelios. I don't know why I'm like this. Enjoy, and feel free to come yell at me on tumblr (shiphauser)!!

“You’re gonna fall one day, you know,” Joel remarks from behind him. “Thirty-four stories is a lot higher than it looks. And when you do, I’m gonna laugh.”

James dangles his feet anyway. He’s just in his mismatched socks, one gray, one white, lacking the usual sneakers he usually has on. It’s a tranquil moonlight sit, that’s all. Three in the morning is when James likes to think. Growing up, his mama always told him it was the _witching hour_ , and he wonders if that’s why he’s drawn to the early hours. That’s when mischief happens. Bad things. Right up James’ alley.

“You won’t laugh,” James smirks, but doesn’t look over his shoulder at his companion. He stares straight ahead at the high-rise building across the street. It’s got at least sixty stories. James wishes he had access to _that_ roof. And he probably _could_ get access if he really wanted to, but rooftops are no fun by himself, and no one would want to go outside and across the street at this hour. No one in their right mind would want to do that. And at this hour, usually it’s Adam who’s up, but Joel made a pot of coffee at midnight and hadn’t planned on sleeping. “You love me too much.” Joel just shakes his head, though James can’t see it.

“I’d push you off the ledge and you know it,” Joel snaps back playfully. James continues staring at all the windows of the adjacent building. All those people in all those apartments must be fast asleep. Some may still be out drinking, some may be tending to a crying baby, some may be wearing ratty slippers and a scowl as they trudge to the elevator with a leash in their hand because their dog has to pee. And here James is, swinging his legs over the ledge of their apartment building, sleep far out of his mind.

“I’d drag you down with me, sweet cheeks,” James chides, and finally looks back at Joel. Joel, in his sweatpants and white t-shirt and old running shoes. James knows he’s freezing, but Joel wouldn’t dare show it. There’s not even wind; Joel just gets cold easily. He’s got at least two of Matt’s jackets hidden somewhere in his room, and everybody but Matt is aware of it. Joel can’t help it. He’s forgetful when he chooses to be, and baggy jackets are kind of his thing. Matt certainly doesn’t seem to mind, even when Joel’s blatantly worn one of the sweatshirts out into the kitchen for breakfast. James wonders why neither of them brought a jacket up to the roof. Well, James knows his own reason. He likes the cool, silent air on his skin too much to cover up.

Bruce tells James he’s like a dog. James insists upon rolling the window down whenever they drive. It’s nice when they take a leisure ride around the hills or along the coast, but when they’ve got black vans full of bikers on their tail, Bruce doesn’t think it’s so nice. As Adam drives, Bruce barks in his ear to roll up the back window that James keeps putting down and waving his gun out. 

“Bruce, do you want me to focus on the road or the fucking nine year old in the back seat? You can only have one!” Adam usually shouts something like that, and Bruce grumbles to himself as he sinks into the passenger seat. James has nearly gotten a finger shot off, but all he did after feeling the bullet whir by was make a crude joke, proclaiming that finger as his _fingering finger_. 

“You mean your firing finger?” Sean had asked next to James in the back seat as he tended to James’ bruised knuckles on the other hand. James simply laughed, as he often did with Sean. With Bruce, it’s a lot of yapping and a lot of boisterous joke-firing. With Elyse, a lot of giggling and exaggerated kissing noises. With Joel, sarcastic comments in the dead of night. But Sean makes him laugh from his belly every day.

“Sure, buddy. My firing finger,” James nodded. Sean got the joke not two seconds later, his jaw dropping and his eyes narrowing at James, who just smiled knowingly in return.

James just wants to be outside, gets uncomfortable when the rest of the crew decides to have a quiet day inside. He’d rather have a loud day out and about, splashing in the ocean or running along crunchy gravel or dirt trails. Elyse or Matt will tag along with him most of the time, but he does enjoy his solo beach days and hikes. He’s glad Joel’s up on the roof with him, keeping him company, even if there’s hardly conversation. They’re both chatterboxes, but they quiet down to be courteous to the rest of the world. Nobody would hear them talking, but they want the teachers and the doctors and the janitors to get a good night’s rest. The real heroes.

– – – – – –

Sean kisses Adam’s knuckles before he tapes them up. Matt invested in a punching bag for their little workout room, and he’s been teaching Adam a thing or two about how to throw a proper punch. Adam’s had too many broken hands. He’s real tired of holding back tears in front of Bruce as he cradles and nurses an aching, shattered hand.

Bruce sees the way Adam smiles so incredibly softly, eyes crinkling, when Sean’s lips meet his hands. He wants to pull his eyes away and go back to watching the goddamn news on their too-big TV, but he can’t. His body won’t let him, despite most of his brain yelling at him to get out of their business. Adam says something to make Sean blush faintly and give a half-chuckle, but Bruce can’t quite hear what it is. Lawrence has the volume cranked up too damn high, and now Bruce is really distraught. He wants to know what Adam said so he can yell at them for being unprofessional.

“Excuse _me_ ; I didn’t realize we were on the job,” Adam scoffed the last time Bruce made a comment. All he did was card his fingers through James’ hair while he nuzzled into Adam’s neck as they sat on the couch after dinner, but Bruce wasn’t having any of it.

“Always on the job,” Bruce muttered as his excuse.

There’s no real reason to snap at them besides Bruce’s muddled feelings on the subject. He knows why he’s the only one who has a bed to himself. He knows what those squeaking sounds coming from Matt’s bedroom, right next to his, every few nights are. He knows he’s on the outside of something going on right under his nose, and he’s fully aware that he’s the only one keeping himself out of it.

“Bruce?” Lawrence nudges him with the TV remote. “It’s Dog Day at the library next Thursday if you wanna go. They just had a blurb about it on the news; saw you zoning out and figured you’d want to know.” Bruce looks at him with as neutral an expression as he can manage. 

“We have a strategies meeting next Thursday. It’s on the bulletin board,” Bruce informs his friend. Lawrence pushes his glasses up his nose and straightens up on the couch. Bruce doesn’t like it when they forget about meetings, even if they have no reason to remember them in the first place. They all live in the same penthouse most of the time. But Bruce nearly shot James between the eyes when he and Elyse were a half hour late to a final pre-heist meeting a few months back, despite it falling on the night of their anniversary. He runs a tight ship, but he has his good days. 

“Dog Day starts at nine in the morning, though,” Lawrence supplies, and he wears a small grin that he knows Bruce will give into. It’s not wide and toothy; that one’s saved for when Bruce agrees to go to Dog Day. Bruce pretends not to care when Joel points out dogs as they drive around town, but he secretly keeps a checklist of the best dogs he’s seen on any given day. It makes up for the fact that he won’t let himself keep one.

“Okay, we’ll go to Dog Day before lunch,” Bruce agrees, sounding a bit reluctant, but he’s smiling, so Lawrence files that away as a win. “Do you think Elyse wants to come?”

“Bruce, I _know_ Elyse wants to come,” Lawrence tells him matter-of-factly. Bruce can’t help his wide smile now, and Lawrence mirrors him. Bruce is a lovable, loving human being who chooses to act like a hard ass on a daily basis. Lawrence knows how to crack him the best, and one of those methods is absolutely Dog Day. A few others are homemade guacamole, movie marathons, dumb little doodles on the whiteboard in their meeting room, and genuine encouragement during a workout. Bruce is simple, and Lawrence loves him for that, along with the twelve thousand other great qualities that Bruce has, but selectively shows.

“Did someone say Dog Day?” Adam inquires as he waltzes over with taped knuckles to sit in a plush armchair in the living room. He’s got a muscle shirt and basketball shorts on, and Sean had teased him for trying to look like a college kid again. Adam went with the predictable _“I was never really a college kid in the first place, Spoole”_ to which Sean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but we already have three of us going,” Lawrence sighs, looking like he actually feels sorry for Adam. They don’t allow themselves to go out in large groups in the city. That’s how Bruce’s last crew got caught, and Bruce was the only one who made it out unscathed. They’ll all picnic in the mountains and go four-wheeling out in the boonies all they want, even spend a day on the lake, but they never get to go to the movies together or anything like that. It’s the price they have to pay.

“That’s okay, we’ll catch the next one,” Adam shrugs. Lawrence knows he’s talking about him and Sean. They’ve been attached at the hip the past few weeks, probably because Omar hasn’t been coming around as much. He’s busy at the pharmacy, and only drops by with memos, mostly for Joel. And Omar is _technically_ Joel’s to claim, but Adam and Sean can’t get enough of his grin, and they (mostly Sean, though) follow him around like lovesick puppies whenever he’s in their apartment for more than an hour.

Elyse’s text back to Lawrence after he tells her about their planned outing includes a lot of exclamation points, and Bruce leans over to look at Lawrence’s phone when he snickers. Bruce smiles fondly at the text and its sender, but catches himself and scoots back over to his side of the couch. She’s James’. The only woman in his life that he’s in close quarters with, and she’s James’. And occasionally Adam’s. A couple times Lawrence’s. Once Sean’s. Twice Joel’s. Bruce is pretty sure she contributes to most of the squeaking from Matt’s bed. God, it’s messy and it makes Bruce’s head hurt, makes him angry some days.

Bruce wants the secret, giggling whispers to stop, because they’re all he can hear when he lies awake at night. He doesn’t know what James does up on the roof with whoever goes there with him, but he’s not entirely certain that he _wants_ to know. Sometimes he’s sick to his stomach when Lawrence kisses James’ temple before bed, and he wants it all to _stop_.

– – – – –

Omar shows up early for the strategies meeting the next Thursday, after the others go to dog day, and those that didn’t go finish up their weekly errands. Joel gives him a tight hug upon his entrance and beckons for the other to greet the man as well. It’s been a while since Omar’s done more than just drop in and give Joel a quick kiss.

Joel and Omar go back to their college days. It’s not as long as when Adam and Matt say, “We go _way_ back,” but it’s something. Joel taught Omar French, and Omar taught Joel Spanish. Omar’s now trilingual after following up on Joel’s tutoring with several summers in France. Joel doesn’t know a lick of Spanish today. But hey would speak to each other in tongues until their tongues got busy elsewhere, specifically in each other’s mouths, and they’ve been on-and-off ever since. Mostly on, but shit happened and continues to happen.

It’s become a lot easier to manage now that Omar cuddles on the couch with Lawrence in the same way he does with Joel, and gives goodbye cheek kisses to Adam. He’s a little satellite in their group, always there to tell Joel when the arms or drug people need to talk to him, but he keeps his distance. He’s got a small house on the outskirts of town that Joel likes to crash at the few days following a job while the others hide out upstate or out of state.

Omar’s the most reliable person any of them have ever met. Joel got him into the game, but he’s always been looking for that edge in his life. Joel was just the one to expose him to it. Omar’s the middleman between Joel and whoever the hell they’re doing business with. Joel gets to remain nameless, and Omar gets dozens of fake aliases that Bruce and James come up with when they’re out at the bar. They all sound like porn names, so Omar tweaks them a bit before using them.

“Surprised you made it, Omar,” Bruce comments as they all wait for Adam to finish up in the bathroom before starting the meeting. “Thought we were gonna have to replace you.” Joel rolls his eyes from his chair, then looks anywhere but at Bruce, who stands with his back to an empty whiteboard. Omar sits with his rolling chair pressed snugly up against Joel’s, and all he does is smile at Bruce.

“Of course I made it,” Omar responds simply. He’s also one of the most patient men in Los Santos. Even Lawrence can’t get past his poker face, and Omar’s neutral, unfazed expression from the one time things got confusing and messy and a baddie had a gun to Omar’s temple still makes its way into James’ dreams every once in a while. He could be the greatest criminal the city’s ever seen, but he stays on the sidelines. He’s still a criminal, of course. There’s no denying that; Omar got Joel both on and off of pain pills and keeps a constant supply of pot coming in for his boys. But other than that, and all the negotiating under the table, he’s clean as a whistle. He’s got a good front, and they’re all glad he’s around. “Wouldn’t be a meeting without me.”

“What are we talking about again?” Sean asks with a yawn. Bruce scoffs and shakes his head, then turns around and scribbles something in red marker on the board. _Drugs_. “Oh, I’m on board now, alright.” Lawrence chuckles from across the room, and Sean scrunches his nose at him. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I think Spoole would only be happier if you had written _Blowing Up Drugs,_ Bruce,” Elyse notes with a straight face, which makes Lawrence clap his hands together and guffaws. James wraps his arm around his girl, proud of how on top of it she always is. He’s always said that if she wasn’t bashing in skulls for a living, Elyse would headline every comedy club in the nation. Elyse thinks she could probably pull off both at the same time.

James and Elyse were a duo at first. Still are in the legal sense, but a few years back they were Los Santos’ very own Bonnie and Clyde. They’d pull off small robberies here and there, but were mostly hired assassins. James is decent with a sniper rifle, and Elyse knows exactly which knife is best for any given cut you want on the body, depending on the target’s size and muscle. James licked the blood off of her chin one time when they had first started out, but after Elyse told him it wasn’t hers, he never even considered doing that ever again.

“How many are we taking for this one?” Adam questions once he’s settled into the room. He may dick around with James every other goddamn minute or get a little too drunk with Lawrence on the weekends, but when it comes to planning, he’s as serious as Bruce, if not more. “I know it’s just a basic robbery, but there might be heat and we may need cover.”

“I don’t see why we don’t just bring the whole crew in,” Bruce shrugs. He starts writing everyone’s names down in a row, even Omar’s, and draws a line under each of their names. He immediately writes _getaway_ under Joel’s name, and nobody notices the small sigh of relief the curly-haired man emits. _Backup_ is placed under Omar’s name, and Bruce turns around to look at the guy with an inquisitive expression.

“Maybe I’m sick that day,” Omar challenges jokingly, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands together behind his head. “When is this going down again?”

“On my birthday,” Matt speaks up begrudgingly. Omar turns to look at Matt with a sympathetic frown on his face. Matt’s sitting behind James and Elyse, rolling chair set all the way up high so he can see over them while everyone else has their chair lowered near to the ground. There’s plenty of room for Matt to sit in a line with them, but he’s never really a part of strategizing, so he sits in the back.

Matt does what’s asked of him, especially when Adam’s the one asking. Bruce is the ringmaster, that much is true. But Adam’s simple and calm approach to most things is what makes Matt trust him. That and the one time in tenth grade math class when Adam let Matt copy the homework he forgot to do. Matt will follow any order, but will have a little pep in his step when Adam’s doling out directions. Elyse calls it a crush, coos at him when she wants to tease and be a dick, but Matt denies it. Matt, who is the first to cuddle up with Adam during a lightning storm or when Adam can’t sleep.

“On Matt’s birthday?!” Omar exclaims, eyes widening in disbelief as he looks between Lawrence and Bruce now. They’re usually the two who do all of the scheduling and precise planning. “Happy fuckin’ birthday, Matt, here’s a near-death experience!”

“No, Matt’s never almost died, that’s James’ job,” Joel counters, crossing ankle over knee and smiling smugly.

“What’s my job? To almost die, or to make sure Matt doesn’t?” James asks.

“Matt makes sure Matt doesn’t die,” Adam offers. “Matt makes sure _none_ of us die.” And Matt _hates_ that Adam puts that kind of pressure on him, but he knows Adam doesn’t mean to. “How many times has Sean patched you up, James? How many broken ribs are you up to again?”

“Broken all of them at least once, but this one right here,” James starts, and lifts up his shirt to give the class a little show and tell session. He points to his lower left rib and continues, “This guy’s up to eight times now. He’s my lucky rib. Aren’t you, lil guy?”

“God, James, put your shirt down,” Elyse requests out of pseudo-embarrassment. She brings a hand up to her face and presses her fingertips against her forehead.

James pulls his shirt down with a huff, and things settle down for a moment or two. Omar’s still not too happy about this all going down, but Lawrence explains that they need to act as soon as he can get into the factory’s computer system, which is projected to be in the wee morning hours of Matt’s birthday. Joel’s already got him a present, and insists that it’ll top any other gift, so no one should bother, as if they don’t all have gifts stowed under their beds already.

They’re stealing drugs to give to the shady suppliers of Los Santos. At least, that’s the plan. That’s almost always the plan unless they’re stealing cold, hard cash or the occasional arms shipment. As far as drugs go, they circle the top of the food chain like vultures waiting to swoop. Usually they steal from big shot dealers or other crews if they’re feeling risky. If you ask them, they’d say they’re _helping_ the city by eradicating all the shitty dealers from the city and keeping around the ones that know how the fuck to run a business.

“Lawrence, you’re on alarms,” Bruce tells him after he’s already written _groundwork_ for James, Elyse, and Adam. 

“Am I ever not?”

“Hey, I could do your job if you really wanted me to, since we all know how _great_ you are with a gun,” Bruce snaps, and Joel wants to say something, but leaves it alone. Joel may be strapped at almost all times, but that doesn’t mean he’s comfortable shooting the damn thing. Lawrence has turned down many offers of going to the shooting range with some of the crew, and Joel’s always there with a smile and an understanding nod while the others grumble and give Lawrence shit.

“What the fuck are you even _doing_ , Bruce? Besides barking orders?” Lawrence ponders, and Sean smiles nervously. Even though he’s used to loud noises, he doesn’t like when they fight, and Lawrence and Bruce are ready to bicker constantly. Lawrence arms himself with his words, but Bruce is _great_ at dual-wielding. He’s asked many times if Lawrence would like to be killed before or after Bruce takes down his argument. But Lawrence is usually in the right, and Elyse lets them know it, which leaves Bruce to sulk (or stomp) away.

“Do you want a fucking list? An outline? A rough draft? I’m driving one of the vans, I’m on the ground, I’m driving getaway, I’m distracting cops if we need it; I’m saving your guys’ asses, that’s what I’m doing,” Bruce responds harshly. Lawrence crosses his arms over his chest and looks up at the ceiling, not really wanting to get into it with Bruce right now. Bruce thinks he’s _so damn_ _high and mighty_ , when he’s actually just like the rest of them, except he finds them work. Lawrence bets he could do that if he tried hard enough.

Bruce starts to sweat from all the attention on him. This is second nature to him, but it’s still stressful and not even Dog Day could ease his nerves. Yeah, his nerves. He’s _nervous_ , because he seems like the only one who actually gives a shit. Well, that’s _his_ side of the story. He wants to keep his friends alive and get paid. Those are the only things that matter to him, and it’s a tall order when something could go wrong at any second.

There’s no window in their meeting room, but he knows the sun is going down. It’s almost another day closer to their job, and he’s not sure if he’s prepared. Sean and Matt go to their depot under the bridge that night to collect their weapons, but Bruce is afraid that they’re gonna forget something and nobody will have time to correct it before the heist. But Matt does as he’s told and throws every single piece of C4 Sean tries to sneak into the car back into the unit. It’s not an explosives job. It’s an explosives job when they need to destroy a rival gang’s base or a dealer’s home upstate. This time around, Sean gets to drive a motorcycle and keep eyes on the perimeter and distract the cops if any get near them.

But that’s a few days away.

So James finds his way up to the rooftop, and Joel follows along just for shits. James doesn’t get stressed about jobs, no. He only gets stressed when anyone suggests he and his Wheezy split up on the ground. He needs to have her back at all times, even though he’s more than aware that she is capable of defending herself. He just gets worried. If she gets hurt, he wants to be there to bandage her and get her out safely. If he gets hurt, he wants to see her absolutely fucking destroy whoever brought him pain. Once it was Adam, and he screamed when Sean straightened out his broken nose. Elyse kissed the bridge of it as blood ran from his nostrils.

“What’d you get Matt for his birthday?” James asks after threatening to drag Joel down a thirty-four story fall. “A way out of this job?”

“Nah, he wishes,” Joel shrugs. He goes against his better judgment and toes himself closer to the edge of the building. He won’t sit down, god no. Joel fears heights more than anything else. Even more than sharks, more than ripping his pants, more than commitment. “Don’t worry about it. He’ll be happy, that’s all.  


“Just don’t let it end up like my birthday, alright? I know you have your heart in the right place a lot of the time, but _don’t do that to him_. I can handle it. He can’t. He might act like a guy that could handle that, but he’s _just not_.”

_James had put on the suit Joel bought for him, put on the expensive watch and had Elyse spray on some expensive cologne in just the right places. The high thread count felt good on his skin, made him feel worth something. Made him feel important. Elyse said he looked handsome for this birthday that the two of them had already celebrated at lunch that day. Elyse bought him a new pair of workout shoes and some contact solution because his was almost out. Birthdays are odd when they can afford most everything they want to buy._

_A night living in Joel’s world of lavishness and luxury sounded fun. Joel had made reservations months in advance for one of the best restaurants in Los Santos, and James was ready to eat himself sick on fancy people food. It was his designated cheat day, too. He told Elyse he’d bring her home something nice in a doggy bag, and she smacked his arm hard as he walked out the door._

_Joel didn’t show. James only let himself sit there, embarrassed, for ten minutes before leaving. Joel’s always at least four minutes early to everything, so he knew. He knew his birthday dinner wasn’t going to happen, and he’d have to pull up to a drive thru on the way home in his unimaginably expensive suit to get him and Elyse some burgers and fries._

_But James didn’t eat that night. He drove around the city for two hours and didn’t dare call Joel. He didn’t want to embarrass himself even further, didn’t want Joel to tell him that he had better things to do than go to a meaningless dinner with his friend. He didn’t want Joel to hear the hurt in his voice, not yet. Didn’t want Elyse to have to hear it either when he got home, but it happened anyway. He wasn’t going to tell anyone, but when James came back without a smile and without a Joel, she rushed to his side and dragged him into their bed. The fancy suit ended up rumpled on the floor, and James rumpled the sheets as he tossed and turned next to Elyse, trying to fall asleep._

_Joel didn’t come back that night, nor the next nor the next. When he did come back, he slipped James a birthday card filled with several hundred-dollar bills across the kitchen counter with a mumbled, “Business, y’know?”_

_James didn’t know. He would have asked Joel to elaborate, but Sean and Lawrence were around, and Elyse was the only one that knew. She’s still the only one that knows. Adam’s under the impression that James ate an entire thirty-two ounce steak by himself while Joel polished off a hearty lamb salad. James still doesn’t know, and he has a feeling Joel will never tell him._

“It’s gonna be fine,” Joel promises, sounding as convincing as he can manage, which isn’t very convincing. “He’ll be happy.”

James doesn’t know if he believes him, but James supposes he doesn’t know a lot of things when it comes to Joel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to Spencer (AO3: rogueofpandas; tumblr: ryanthelovelyguy) for commissioning this fic! We're getting into the thick of some things in this chapter, but there's still LOTS to come with all of these guys. Thanks for reading; let me know what y'all think!! :-)

“Well, _I’m_ certainly not doing it this time,” Elyse shrugs and works at detaching her parachute backpack from herself. The buckles are a little tricky, but her fingers work quickly to release her torso from the damn thing. Her purple parachute rests gently on top of some rocks behind where she had landed, and she starts to re-pack it into her bag.

“Oh, so you think _I_ will?” Lawrence asks with a snarky tone. He had landed first, nearly avoiding the only tree on this little, desolate island. In his defense, the tree just so happens to be ‘ _larger than necessary_.’ Elyse rolls her eyes. He does this every time. Lawrence has never been good at landing, but then again, he’s never usually the one having to jump out of the helicopter. If anything, he’s the one flying it. “You’re the one who brought the flare gun!”

“But I don’t wanna fire it! I did it last time!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you always do it!” Lawrence counters, and Elyse scoffs at him. 

They have a pre-heist tradition. They convince James to fly them out to sea (usually with a small cash bribe or one of Lawrence’s famous southern breakfasts; this time around it was a big plate of biscuits and gravy). After giving sarcastic goodbyes to James and jumping out of the helicopter, they pretend to strand themselves on whichever small island or rock formation they land on. Then it’s a waiting game. Usually, it doesn’t take very long for a sailboat or speedboat to show up in the distance. They shoot off a flare and lure the suckers in.

This time, it’s a speedboat with only one on board, and Lawrence flashes a big grin just looking at it. Elyse convinces him to shoot up the red flare, and they’re lucky when the boat immediately turns in their direction. Only once before have they mistaken a police boat for a leisure boat. That was a messy day full of lying, but they got back to land safely without too much questioning from the authorities. Elyse is pretty sure they only got off the hook because Lawrence refused to stop making out with her in the back of the boat. It weirded the cops out _just_ a bit.

They’re not concerned with getting back to land safely. They’d swim if they had to, but that tires Lawrence out and makes him grumpy. Elyse doesn’t want to deal with a grumpy Lawrence. No, this is way more fun.

The speedboat zips around and pulls up to the lowest point of the island, and the two of them have to hop down a few mid-sized rocks and get their feet wet before they’re close enough to draw their pistols. The man behind the wheel freezes with a horrified expression, and starts reaching for something, maybe his phone, but Elyse’s voice stops him.

“Alright, here’s how it’s gonna go,” Elyse speaks casually, even sweetly. Lawrence smirks beside her, but keeps his serious face on so as not to give the driver any reason to think they’re bluffing. “You’re gonna get out of your boat, and we’re gonna take your boat.” Lawrence resists the urge to nod sassily beside her. He’s eager; this is a _nice boat_. It’s obviously just been cleaned, its white paint almost blinding in the summer sunlight. The red racing stripe is a nice touch, too. Lawrence takes notes; he’s always wanted a boat to take out on the lake whenever they’re bored or need to get away from the city.

“I’m calling the police!” the man blurts, obviously shaken, and reaches for his phone in earnest this time. Elyse takes a step closer and holds her gun out with one hand, expertly aiming directly for his head.

“Are you?” she asks, tone still cool and even. Lawrence doesn’t know how she does it. He’d be much too giddy to do this; he’d lose his composure so easily and start being a smart ass – in a bad way. The man now puts his hands up, indicating his surrender. Elyse takes her eyes off of him for a second to smile at Lawrence, who’s already looking at her.

“God, what do you want?! Do you want my wallet? Here, you can–”

“Buddy, if you try to put your hands in your pockets one more time, we’re not gonna have a fun time here,” and it’s Lawrence who speaks now, sounding sure of himself. Elyse swells with pride. Lawrence is a smooth talker, almost as smooth as Joel, but he gets so overwhelmed and even overexcited in the moment that his anxiousness sometimes gets ahead of his words. He’ll get tongue-tied or go off on a tangent when he’s supposed to be distracting a police officer or someone of the sort. Another reason why they don’t take him out on jobs much.

“What the hell do you want?” the man shrieks, and this is where the average person would start to feel bad for the guy. 

“Look, man,” Lawrence sighs. “We’re gonna borrow your boat, that’s all. We don’t need money. We don’t need attention. We’re gonna take her for a little spin and return her to your dock in the marina, okay? Info’s in the glove box, right?” The man nods rapidly at the inquiry, getting more nervous as Elyse inches closer to the boat.

“Atta kid,” Elyse smiles at him, and he stares back, perplexed and frightened. “Like he said, info’s in the glove box. Including your name. Possibly your address. Look, Lewis. Can I call you Lewis?” He nods again, even though Elyse thinks he looks more like a Ross. “We really don’t want any trouble. Guns are scary, sure, blah, blah, blah. We just want a little fun.”

“A buddy of ours will swing by to get you in about an hour,” Lawrence explains, and flicks his gun to motion for the man to exit the boat. “Lewis” scurries out of the watercraft, then immediately puts his hands back up. “We don’t want trouble. Your boat goes back to the dock unscathed, and you don’t speak of this incident to anybody. It’s really simple.”

“Okay, okay,” the man shudders as he speaks, and Lawrence lowers his gun. “Take it, just don’t hurt me!”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Elyse winks at their victim then follows Lawrence to board the speedboat, gun aimed at the man the whole time. They leave with friendly waves over their shoulders. James will be by in just a little bit to airlift the guy to a _fairly_ safe and _kinda_ populated location.

Lawrence kisses Elyse lazily in the back of the boat as it rocks in the gentle waves of the deep ocean. The engine’s shut off and they feel at peace, having traveled decently far away from their victim. Neither of them ever mention it, but they do this before every heist just in case things go south and they all have to split apart, or worse. It’s better than stressing or drinking, even Lawrence has to admit. They share some slightly-squished fruit slices that Elyse had packed in a container in her bag and give each other sticky kisses.

Elyse puts her hair up and strips down to the bikini underneath her clothes. She hops in the water off of the side of the boat and Lawrence yells at her for getting him wet with the splash that follows. She taunts him, tries to get him in the water, too, but he’d rather watch her. When her shoulders bob out of the water, he admires the way the sun makes them glisten. She looks at ease in the ocean, even though the water must be quite cold out here. She doesn’t show it. 

\- - - - - - 

Joel wrings his hands as he waits for Matt to get out of the shower. He’s got the small, paper-wrapped parcel waiting on the bed, his and Matt’s bed, with Matt’s birthday present inside. Well, one of his presents. Joel’s still not so sure about the other. James’ words still haunt him, still hurt him. Joel’s learned from that, he’s pretty sure. God, maybe being _pretty sure_ about most things in his life is finally starting to catch up to him and bite him in the ass. He’s hurt a lot of people, this he knows. But he’s doing his damnedest to make sure these guys are spared, though he’s already fucked up with James.

The water turns off and Joel’s heart leaps. It’s eight o’clock at night, and they have to be up at three to start heading out for the job, but he’s still in his day clothes. He feels put together, somewhat, but nothing can take away from how nervous and absolutely, disgustingly _vulnerable_ Matt makes him feel. Matt didn’t take clothes into the bathroom with him, so Joel knows he’s due out any second in a towel to retrieve some pajamas.

Matt steps out in Joel’s robe, instead. It’s become something of a habit when Joel’s not around, but sometimes, like tonight, he’ll slip up. Or wear it completely on purpose. He’ll never tell. Joel raises his brows at the sight and goes to speak, but Matt wears a soft smile that warns Joel to not make a teasing comment.

“Oh, uh, happy birthday, Matthew,” Joel speaks quietly, but Matt’s got a good set of ears, unlike Sean. “Four more hours, I know, but we’ve gotta get some shut-eye. Here.” He reaches behind him and grabs the present from the bed. Matt tilts his head and keeps the same smile on his face. It’s been a long day for him, filled with two workouts and a quick meditation session with James, who exhausted him with his sarcastic comments throughout.

“Thank you, Joel,” Matt says, even before he opens the gift. It could be a live cockroach, and he’d have to be thankful for it in the end. He pulls the twine string to undo the bow, then rips into the paper because no one ever taught him how to properly undo wrapping paper. When he was a kid, he’d have hundreds of tiny paper scraps surrounding him on Christmas morning. He doesn’t care.

Matt’s gift comes in a cardboard box, one that Joel probably got in the mail from an online order then re-used. It’s uncharacteristic, and Matt wonders if Joel threw this together last minute in an attempt to be seen as kind and thoughtful. He’s slept next to Joel for five months and still doesn’t entirely trust the man. He supposes that’s good.

Joel put thought into the gift. He thought so damn hard, and it brought him to Matt’s core values and ambitions. Matt’s a simple guy who wants to lead a simple, low-key life with as little fanfare as possible. The first thing Matt sees when he opens the box is a woven thread bracelet, made of light blue and deep red string – Matt’s favorite colors. His last one got destroyed when he was messing around with a knife once, and he’s been secretly lamenting it ever since. He likes having something on his left wrist at all times, if he can. It’s comforting to him.

Matt’s grin lets Joel know that he’s done a great job already. It’s honest and genuine, and Matt slips the bracelet on immediately. He doesn’t say anything, though. Not yet. Underneath it is a folded pair of gel insoles. Matt’s on his feet a lot, and Joel knows he likes the extra comfort and support. His last pair is too worn down to use nowadays.

“So you can be taller,” Joel shrugs nonchalantly. “Y’know, for kissing and stuff.” Matt snorts and shakes his head, placing the insoles on the bed next to the box. Next is a bar of dark chocolate, Matt’s favorite sweet treat, which hides the surprise underneath. It’s not a watch, nor a thousand-dollar bottle of cologne. At the bottom of the box, Matt finds twenty (and he counts them) little hearts made out of bills. He opens one up to find that they’re hundred-dollar bills, and he shakes his head at Joel, but doesn’t refuse the gift.

“Thank you, Joel, again,” Matt smirks, and goes in to hug the man beside him. Joel just nods before accepting the embrace. He knows it’s cheesy and not even _close_ to what Matt deserves, but Matt seems to be happy, and that’s really what matters to Joel. He contemplates giving the second gift as he and Matt stand there, squeezing each other tight. Matt hums and smiles into Joel’s chest, and Joel knows he’s grinning even though he can’t see Matt’s face. 

“I love you, Matt,” Joel murmurs into Matt’s damp hair, and Matt squeezes just a little tighter, though the rest of him starts to freeze up. “Happy birthday.” Joel senses Matt’s hesitation, but rubs his back through the moment or two before Matt’s re-adjusting and trying to burrow further into Joel’s warmth.

“Love you,” Matt replies fondly, and it’s slightly muffled by Joel’s shirt.

They sleep cuddled up that night, as they always do before a heist. Joel’s gonna be cranky after less than eight hours of sleep, but waking up wrapped around Matt will surely put them both in a better mood. Joel kisses Matt’s forehead, then drifts off hoping Matt knows that his second present was the _I love you_. 

Matt toys with the bracelet, heart pounding as he tries to fall asleep. He knows his weak _Love you_ wasn’t enough to convey what he felt when Joel gave him the best present he could have ever asked for. He’ll do better next time, he’s sure.

\- - - - - -

Matt’s glowing in the morning, and tells Sean all about his present (the first one) from Joel as they load up their van with arms. Lawrence is set up in his office, tapped into a few, strategic traffic lights throughout the city as well as the factory’s security system. James had given him an unbelievably sweet kiss on the cheek before heading down to the garage, but Lawrence doesn’t have time to read into it or worry about things possibly going wrong later.

Joel, Bruce, and Sean are all ready to go, but Adam has a checklist on a clipboard that he needs to get through first. It’s got everything, from people, to objectives, to weapons, to keys that they need to have. Bruce leans against the closed, driver-side door on the van, and Joel waltzes over from the modded sedan he’ll be driving today as Adam checks in with Matt on his rifle.

“Kiss for good luck?” Joel teases, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. Bruce doesn’t know why Joel insists upon tucking his shirt into his skinny jeans whenever they go out on a job, but it’s something of a signature look. A dumb, stupid, no-good, annoying, signature look. He wears dumb sunglasses and gels his hair too fucking much, and Bruce is just glad that he doesn’t have to look at him too much on days like these. Bruce thinks about Joel a lot during heists, but it’s certainly because Joel’s the most likely to get himself killed, not because Bruce _wants_ to think about Joel. No, of course not.

“What?” Bruce asks with a squint. He can’t believe half the shit that comes out of Joel’s mouth, but this has reached a new low. Joel’s been blatantly flirting with Bruce in an over-the-top manner since the two met, but Bruce has usually been able to ignore it or roll his eyes and will Joel away. Bruce feels cornered now, though, with the rest of the crew focusing on other things or already sitting in the vans. Elyse wanders around all of the cars, speaking to Omar on a burner phone.

“I said, _kiss for good luck_?” Joel repeats, more exaggerated this time. He steps closer to Bruce, closer than he’s gotten for a long time. Bruce doesn’t reply. He looks past Joel, looks over his head at the cement wall of the garage, hoping this situation will just disappear. He finds himself wishing for that a lot.

“In what world would I do that, Joel?” Bruce finally responds after a few seconds of silence. Joel refuses to step away, and Bruce can smell his aftershave. It smells like Joel’s money. They’re not toe to toe just yet, but Joel’s gonna cross that line, Bruce can feel it.

“Do you want to kiss me, Bruce? Do you ever just…think about doing that?” Joel inquires casually, folding his arms across his chest. Bruce meets his eyes now, and looks _very_ far from amused. “It wouldn’t have to mean anything, you know.” Joel takes a baby step closer, and now has to tilt his head up slightly to look at Bruce. Bruce mirrors Joel’s crossed-arms position, and decides to have a little fun.

“It…it wouldn’t?” he asks, feigning naïveté. He puts on his softest eyes for Joel, whose expression softens in return. Joel is a _handsome_ man, Bruce will admit, but there’s no getting around that he’s kind of a douchebag, and he’s a man.

“No, it wouldn’t have to mean anything if you didn’t want it to.”

“What if I want it to mean something?” Bruce teases, proud of where he’s leading Joel. It’s usually Lawrence or Joel outsmarting him, but this time, Bruce gets to come out on top. Joel’s steadily moving closer, steps on Bruce’s foot a little before reconfiguring and standing toe-to-toe. Bruce stays put, leaning back against the car like he’s hot shit.

“Then it means something,” Joel whispers. His eyes scan Bruce’s face for an answer of some kind, or maybe even a question, but he doesn’t find anything. He knows Adam’s nearing the end of his drill sergeant list, and they’ll have to go soon. He wants Bruce to hurry the fuck up and lean in already.

“No,” Bruce speaks at an equally-as-low tone, but to Joel’s delight, he adjusts so he’s upright, and cranes his neck down to get impossibly close to Joel’s face. “It doesn’t.” Bruce’s breath is hot on Joel’s face, and Joel thinks his heart may give out. He’s only half-listening to Bruce’s words; the other half of his mental capacity is preparing for the way he’s going to kiss the man he’s – no, they’ve _all_ been trying to win over for too damn long now. “And I don’t do meaningless things.”

Bruce is gone when Joel opens his eyes, and he feels his heart sink. It’s not that crushing of a feeling, but he had really thought today was gonna be the day. Joel straightens his shirt and checks his hair in the van’s window, hoping no one paid much attention to that embarrassing scenario. Bruce walks over to Sean and claps a hand on his shoulder as Adam speaks to them both. Everyone’s ready to go, and Joel tries to shake his feelings as he gets into the getaway car with Matt.

Bruce honks at Sean as the smaller man peels out of the garage on his motorcycle, and Sean gives him the middle finger over his shoulder. Elyse chuckles from the passenger seat of the van. Adam and James hole themselves up in the back of it, making sure each other’s body armor is secure. Joel follows behind with the birthday boy, who fields a call from his mother, which makes Joel’s heart sing. The ride to the factory is long, but Matt’s good company, and doesn’t complain when Joel makes up silly little songs about going to steal some nitrous oxide.

\- - - - - -

Bruce doesn’t realize that _maybe_ he’s made a mistake until he’s certain his arm his broken, and he tastes blood running down into his mouth from his nose.

Bruce doesn’t realize that he’s _definitely_ made a mistake until the bullet bites his thigh.

It has to be him, doesn’t it? He supposes he deserves it for fucking up this badly. They needed Omar on the ground with them, first of all. Second of all, Bruce didn’t make Lawrence get access to the gate system guarding the factory, which was a _huge_ fucking disaster. Third of all, who put Sean on a motorcycle? Who thought that was a good idea? Oh, it was _Bruce_.

They have the drugs, yeah, but their van already has a tire blown out, and they’re not even _in it_ yet. Bruce is immobilized on the ground because some asshole rival member’s bullet ricocheted and hit him. Yeah, that’s mistake number four. They waited too long for this whole thing. Shipment schedules are easy to get a hold of for anyone with _half_ of Lawrence’s abilities, and they waited too damn long, hopped on this train too damn late. They got there first that morning, but it wasn’t long before Sean and Lawrence both warned of trouble heading their way.

James took Elyse in Joel’s car with half of the supply. There was actually less product accessible there than they had calculated. Mistake number five. They’ll get a decent profit off of it, but the bulk of what they wanted hadn’t been brought to the supply room yet, and Lawrence couldn’t chance trying to get access to a deeper part of the factory. 

Bruce just hopes nobody finds him. He’s inside the small warehouse, tucked in a corner behind a pillar, waiting until the gunfire stops so he can use his earpiece to bark at one of his crew mates to come and get him without anyone else hearing. He winces when he looks at the blood coming from his leg, and makes quick work of undoing his armor with one hand and tossing it to the side, despite quickly growing lightheaded.

Bruce has keen ears, and smirks despite the pain every time he hears Matt snipe somebody from wherever the hell he ended up. Roof access wasn’t as great as they though. Mistake six. Matt pulls through for them, though. Takes out more guys than Adam even _sees_ , and Adam’s killed at least half a dozen. Bruce hopes James and Elyse are safe. The main discourse over the system that he hears in his ear is between Sean and Lawrence. Lawrence is juggling getting James and Elyse home safe with getting the rest of his boys the fuck out of there. Sean yells at Omar to come in, and Omar speaks for the first time all day. His voice is steady. It calms Bruce for a moment. Bruce gets one of his shirts off and makes the best tourniquet he can, but Sean and Omar make the best ones.

“Where’s Bruce?” Adam shouts, and they can all hear that he’s firing his pistol, one-handed as he likes to do sometimes when there’s more important things to focus on. It’s an odd, filtered sound, but it’s familiar to all of them. Bruce peeks around the pillar he’s sitting against to check if there’s anyone patrolling the area before he brings his hand to his ear to press to talk.

“I’m gonna need some help,” Bruce speaks as loud as he can, but he realizes it’s a very weak plea for assistance. His voice is failing him, and for the first time in a long time, Bruce feels overwhelmingly _scared_.

“Where are you? How many guys?” Sean asks seriously, motorcycle engine roaring, and Bruce thinks he hears the sound get closer out of his free ear, hears Sean driving closer to the madness. Bruce doesn’t know how Sean’s been out in the open on a _motorcycle_ , but _he’s_ the one bleeding out on a factory floor before the sun’s even out.

“N-none, I’m inside,” Bruce stammers, and he fucking hates himself for being so weak and helpless right now. “I’m down. We need to clear out, I…I think.” He hears another shot from Matt, then things seem to settle down outside for at least a few seconds.

“Omar, get your ass over there and load the canisters in your car from the van,” James’ voice surprises all of them. They’d thought he’d be more concerned with his and Elyse’s own endeavors. “They need four tires to pull this off, and the van doesn’t have that right now. Everyone who’s not Bruce, get in the van and peel out to the river as soon as you can. If you’ve done your job, you’ll only have a van or two following.” James sounds alert and ready to take over Bruce’s job, even though Adam should be stepping into command at this point. Bruce doesn’t care, though. He wants this all to be over.

Joel holds his pistol so firmly in both hands that his knuckles are white. He hasn’t had to shoot a single bullet since James booted him out of the car, but he’s so jumpy that he thinks he may fire on one of his friends. He ignores James’ orders and scurries to the building Bruce is in instead of heading toward the van.

“Bruce!” he whisper-yells into the seemingly-empty warehouse, gun shaking a bit in his hands. “Bruce!”

“Yeah,” Bruce replies weakly, sticking his good arm out from behind the pillar.

“They’re all down, as far as I can tell,” Matt murmurs through their earpieces. They know to trust Matt with things like that, but Adam still storms around with a cocked gun. “I’m coming down now. Sean, ditch the bike.” That’s the most words Joel’s ever heard out of Matt during a job. He feels both safe and unnerved. The ringing starts in Bruce’s ears as Joel comes around the pillar.

\- - - - - -

Bruce comes to in the back of Omar’s freshly-washed SUV. He supposes it’s good that he’s alive, but the pain that comes back to his leg makes him roar and thrash in his seat, which makes him remember that at least one of the bones in his right forearm is all but shattered from when he got thrown down and stomped on.

The first thing he sees is Joel, and he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or pissed off. Joel’s not dead, Omar’s not dead. He has so many questions, but the pain overrides all of it. Isn’t Omar a fucking doctor or something? Why couldn’t he give Bruce some magic pills to make it all go away, or at least knock him out for a few hours?

“Shh,” Joel coos, but doesn’t dare touch Bruce. He doesn’t know exactly how many things are wrong with him. It surely must’ve been a sight to see he and Omar dragging Bruce into the SUV while the others drove off in the wonky van. “Everyone’s fine, and you’ll be fine soon, too. Just a few more minutes until we’re at Omar’s.”

Bruce doesn’t want to be at Omar’s. Bruce wants to be at their apartment with the others, with Lawrence and James and Elyse, wants to sing Matt happy fucking birthday and play video games before the business side of the heist rolls around. Bruce’s eyes slip closed again, but Joel snaps in his face like he’s a dog or something.

“Hey, no,” Joel warns in his best commanding tone, and Bruce buys it enough to open his eyes. Joel’s kinda blurry, but at least he’s there.

“You’re s’posed t’be in th’van,” Bruce slurs, and Joel’s brows furrow with concern. Omar glances briefly into the back seat over his shoulder, but quickly turns back and watches the road. Omar’s responsible. Bruce likes that about him.

“I wasn’t gonna leave you alone with Omar,” Joel shrugs. “I need your eyes open, Bruce. Always open, looking at me, okay? Almost there, bud.” Bruce likes the sound of Joel’s voice. It’s like waking up without an alarm on a Wednesday morning when everyone else is fighting traffic to get to their boring desk job. It’s the single cloud covering the sun when it’s a hundred degrees outside and Bruce decided to wear _pants_ for once. It’s the chime of his first flip phone whenever his old girlfriend would text.

“Kiss me,” Bruce slurs again, and he can see Joel perk up as he faces him in the seat beside him. Bruce leans his head back against the window, lets his brain turn into a smoothie as his skull rattles against it. Omar looks back again, for a little longer this time, but does his best to mind his own business, though he finds Joel’s business to be his business, as well.

“What?” Joel asks, truly confused for the second time today. He knows Bruce is semi-conscious and nearly to the point of passing out and never waking up again, if the blood on the leather seat is anything to prove, but Joel feels an ache in his heart at the request.

“Joel, I can’t die without kissing you,” Bruce elaborates, and Joel worries his bottom lip between his teeth as Bruce speaks. Well, tries to speak. Joel gets the idea, though. Bruce has blood splattered and streaked everywhere on his goddamn body, including his mouth, and his lip is busted and bitten through. He looks like an outright _mess_ , but Joel understands the situation. This is the kind of thing that explains why Joel tries not to get attached. Kissing is an attachment of the lips. He shouldn’t.

But Joel told Matt he loved him last night. 

Joel went against orders to be with Bruce and make sure he got out safe instead of securing his own life.

Joel’s kept every dumb birthday card Omar’s ever given him.

Joel hates that he leans in, but he leans across the seat and Omar watches him in the rearview mirror. Bruce closes his eyes again, and Joel stops.

“I won’t kiss you unless you keep your eyes open,” Joel scolds, and he doesn’t want to be a hardass right now, but Bruce’s tourniquet isn’t quite holding up and Joel would hate to bring him a premature death. Bruce opens his eyes comically wide and smiles to himself, releasing a fresh flow of blood from his lower lip that desperately needs stitches. Only then do his eyes focus, and Joel looks _tired_.

“Don’t worry about me,” Bruce scoffs and licks at the blood, scowling at the taste. He’s so beaten up and ugly, but he knows Joel will oblige. It took all of Bruce’s self-restraint to not kiss Joel this morning. It must have been the aftershave, or the adrenaline in the air. “Wanna give you s’mthin’ to ‘member me by.”

“You’re _not going to die_ ,” Omar mutters from the front seat, though it goes unheard. He’s seen enough bad injuries to know what the hell he’s talking about. Bruce is critical, but they’ve got plenty of time before things start to get fatal. 

“You’re an idiot,” Joel sighs, and Bruce waggles his brows comically. Joel feels a pang in his chest, and Bruce gives him a little nod to beckon him closer. Joel’s got his hands positioned on the back of the seat and in between Bruce’s legs to balance himself and not fall on top of this injured man. “Never taking orders from you again.”

All Joel tastes is blood when he surges forward, lips pressing lightly so as not to worsen Bruce’s wound. But Bruce kisses back and that’s all that matters to him. Bruce kisses back like he’ll never see another day, and Joel doesn’t know if Bruce _actually_ thinks he’s dying, but he sure acts like it. It’s gross and all wrong but Bruce kisses Joel like Joel’s got the last set of lips on Earth, and he pulls away with a lazy smile, teeth starting to tint red with the blood that won’t stop.

Joel looks at Bruce with wide eyes, but Bruce keeps his expression content. He’s smiling an awful lot for a man with a piece of metal in his leg.

“Joel,” Bruce states, looking like he’s about to giggle like a schoolgirl, but his leg twitches involuntarily and he roars again, goes to grip it with his bad arm and yells, scaring Joel back to his side of the seat. He groans some more, and Omar speeds up a few blocks away from the house. Bruce pants as he tries to regain composure.

“What is it? Why’d you say my name?” Joel asks, trying to keep eye contact with a man who refuses to stop closing his eyes for too-long periods of time.

“Never mind.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you to Spencer for commissioning this! I'm actually quite proud of this chapter and how it turned out, especially when compared to chapter 2! I do apologize for the delay, but ultimately it turned out to be worth it, I feel. One more chapter to go, but if things can't quite be wrapped up there I may have a shorter bonus chapter on the horizon to make up for my delay! Thanks for reading, everyone, and let me know what y'all think ^.^

Lawrence won’t let any of them in the room, keeps a strong arm on the door to shut them out whenever they try to push in. It’s not the first time he’s been left alone with an unconscious body. In fact, Lawrence has been left alone with more _dead_ bodies he can count, with threats of “ _Make sure they_ ** _don’t_** _wake up_.” So maybe his drinking carried over just a little bit. Maybe the appeal of numbness is so strong that he _can’t fucking stop_.

He doesn’t stay back in the apartment while the others go out for a job just because he’s a bad shot. No, if that were the case, there wouldn’t be six empty bottles littering his feet as he watches Bruce take every breath. Lawrence stays back because he’s seen enough death for three lifetimes, through surveillance cameras, from the passenger’s seat of getaway cars, from the pilot’s seat of a helicopter. He’s watched old crew members get shot at point-blank range, has had to wipe the friendly blood from his glasses and throw away white shirts stained with red.

His mother taught him how to get bloodstains out, but it’s hard to do a decent job when he has to be at least half-drunk to handle all the redness.

Lawrence knows Bruce will wake up. That’s a sure thing. At least, that’s what Omar had said. He doesn’t, however, know if Bruce will ever go back out there and give commands to their friends. Yeah, at the end of the day, Bruce is his _friend,_ above all else. Bruce is the strongest male authority Lawrence has ever had in his life, and the possibility of going separate ways hadn’t even occurred until he heard the discourse over their communication system during the heist. The yelling, the masked panic, the orders from someone who wasn’t Bruce.

Lawrence’s perpetual cough helps Joel know when it’s okay to sneak in. The rattling in his lungs after a hazmat job gone wrong years before is a dead giveaway as to whether he’s awake or asleep. Joel sits outside the door of the recovery room and waits. He checks his watch every five minutes and waits for the coughing to stop, waits for the bottles to stop clanking as Lawrence shuffles his feet on the hardwood from where he sits in a dining chair in the corner.

\- - - - -

Lawrence doesn’t wake up to the hushed voices – he’s too heavy a sleeper. He doesn’t wake up to Joel sitting lightly, almost _hesitantly,_ at the foot of the bed, the mattress creaking every time he shifts nervously with Bruce’s gaze on him like this.

Bruce had woken up just a few minutes after Joel entered the room. The added lopsided pressure to the end of the bed wasn’t exactly ideal and it made him uncomfortable, and he woke up with a scowl on his face that Joel tried to counteract with a smile. Bruce would have frowned even more, but the pain rushing to his head and limbs made him wince and hiss instead. Joel’s expression turned from soft to warning, not wanting Bruce to wake Lawrence.

Joel gives Bruce the painkillers beside the bed after nearly two minutes of quiet arguing, of Bruce saying he needs to learn to deal with the pain and Joel telling him how absolutely ridiculous that sounds. Joel nearly has to shove the pills into Bruce’s mouth, but after Joel whispers something about _after all Omar’s done for you_ through gritted teeth, Bruce rolls his eyes and takes the damn medicine dry.

“Is that all? You can go now,” Bruce insists, face neutral and mouth incredibly dry as his good hand plays with a loose thread on the blanket. His other arm is in a full cast for now; Omar didn’t have time to worry about what _exactly_ went wrong there, other than that something’s broken at the very least. His main concern was the thigh, which Bruce can feel bandages wrapped tightly around. “Lawrence can help me.”

“What do you need help with? Water? I can do that for you,” Joel says, and moves off the bed again to reach for the cup of water on the table. Bruce _is_ thirsty – his mouth feels disgusting and he doesn’t care if the water will irritate his stitched-up lip right now – but he’s not about to get help from _Joel_. Joel doesn’t need to see him like this. Lawrence has before, and that’s the only reason why Bruce even considers letting the man assist him.

“No,” Bruce croaks, and for whatever reason, Joel _stops_. “You’re not supposed to be in here. At least get James or someone more _qualified_ to help me.” Bruce eyes the bottles on the ground and the small puddle from where Lawrence knocked an _almost_ -empty one over.

“I know how to give you _water_ , Bru–”

Bruce reaches across his body with his good arm to grab the cup of water himself and brings it to his lips for a sloppy sip that trickles down his face and shirt before he places it back on the table. Joel sits fully back at the foot of the bed once more and furrows his brows.

“Can you _go_ now? Jesus, you’d think someone as smart as you could take a fucking hint,” Bruce spits, voice raised and slightly stronger now. “I’ll be out when I can, okay? You don’t need to check up on me.” Joel stays silent at this statement, but draws in a deep, steady breath and starts to nod his head. He stands, and Bruce feels relief sweep through him as the bed evens out and he’s not tilted awkwardly to one side.

“Holler if you need anything,” Joel smiles weakly and shrugs before taking a step to the head of the bed. He leans down for a kiss to Bruce’s temple, to which Bruce immediately jerks away from him.

“Stop!” Bruce barks, and they hear Lawrence’s breathing stutter from the corner. Lawrence straightens up in his chair and makes a garbled noise, but neither of them look at him. Joel instead meets Bruce’s confused and angry eyes. “Lawrence, get him out. God, what the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

\- - - - -

Omar stops by the house and is given the cold shoulder by Joel on his way in to see Bruce in the recovery room. He switches out with Lawrence, who stumbles out into the hallway with a crooked smile on his face. He doesn’t know quite what to do; it’s the day after a heist gone haywire and one of their own is injured. The Willemses are up in the mountains blowing off steam, and Matt’s holed up in his room with a book and his dim bedside lamp.

There’s not really anyone else he’d like to bother at the moment, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to pass the time with himself. Maybe someone will feed him. It’s past dinnertime; he could really go for a grilled cheese, but his hands are a little too shaky to make one himself. He’s not _plastered_ , no, but those six bottles on the floor weren’t the first in the past few hours. Sean’s grilled cheeses are of decent merit. He’ll go bug Sean.

“ _Fucker_ ,” Adam hisses, then there’s a hand on Lawrence’s throat and he’s being pushed against a wall right outside one of the bathrooms. “You are the _last_ person I need to be dealing with today, alright?”

“Hey, buddy,” Lawrence grins languidly at Adam, whose face is _right_ in front of his, noses almost touching, but Adam squeezes his hand _tight_ around Lawrence’s throat before letting go completely. Lawrence’s expression falls when he hazily realizes that Adam’s being serious and commanding for a change.

“Hey, _fucker_ ,” Adam repeats, then crosses his arms over his chest, his too-small leather jacket from a few years ago stretching uncomfortably tight over his biceps. It was the only clean thing he could find in his closet this morning to go over his black t-shirt. “Hey, so Bruce almost _died_ this morning. That’s cool, right? We come back to find you already _drinking_ in the living room, and Joel just told me you passed out while watching Bruce.”

“It’s not that big a–”

“Omar told you to keep an eye on him,” Adam says stoically. “I’m sorry that you’re too busy throwing your own little pity party to care about your _friend_ , but some of us actually want him around.” Lawrence squints at that, but doesn’t reply just yet. He knows that it’s better for Adam to get it all out at once. Adam tires himself out by yelling and puts up less of a verbal fight if it escalates to a bigger argument. “I need you to not be a fucking _mess_ for five minutes, because I could have lost my best friend.”

“Omar said he’d wake up.”

“I don’t _care_ about that. I care about you being unreliable when I actually need you to do something for once! We gave you a simple task: here, Lawrence, sit in this chair and stare at this man until he wakes up or starts dying! And you couldn’t even do that without drinking yourself into even more of a stupor,” Adam rants, and there’s a little part of Lawrence’s brain nagging at him, saying that maybe Adam has a point, maybe he should _listen_ to Adam, or do his best to listen. “I can’t lose any of you guys. It’s not an option for me right now. The lengths I go to to save you guys is _astounding_ , and then you come along and fuck things up like this.”

“Adam, Bruce is _fine_ ,” Lawrence reasons, trying to find and utilize his best sober voice as he hangs out against the cold wall in the hallway, Adam’s breath hot and unpleasant on his now-sweaty face. 

“And _you’re_ lucky,” Adam smiles bitterly and takes a half step away from Lawrence. “Lucky he’s alive, and lucky I didn’t knock your fucking teeth out on sight.”

“Adam, you’ve got a terrible right hook,” Lawrence reminds him almost fondly, thinking back to all the progress he’s made with Matt and their little boxing lessons. “I think I’m not entirely the prob’em here, y’know?” Lawrence tilts his head and matches Adam’s step so they’re back where they started distance-wise, Lawrence now off of the wall. “C’mon, let’s take the edge off, baby.”

“God, _fuck you_ , Lawrence,” Adam groans. “I don’t need a drink right now; I need you to get this through your thick skull.

“Okay, if not a drink, then maybe a bowl? A session between the sheets? What do you want here, man? I’m just trying to help,” Lawrence speaks too quickly for his own good, and it just makes Adam’s blood boil even more. “ _I’m_ getting some brandy. You’ve got me stressed _out_ , Kovic.”

Lawrence rolls his eyes and drags his body away from Adam, heading toward their lounge where the bar is instead of Sean’s room like he had intended. And Adam, Adam stays glued to his spot and shakes his head at Lawrence as he walks away. His head keeps moving, his mind keeps racing. And as he shakes his head, he realizes that he’s doing it more at himself, not Lawrence, who rounds the corner out of his sight.

Adam stops shaking his head when he starts to follow Lawrence to the bar.

\- - - - -

James is in charge of Bruce’s physical therapy once he’s ready for it, and Elyse and Adam get out a lot. They go to movies, out to dinner, for walks in the park late at night. Anything to get out of the apartment without going on a vacation. Elyse doesn’t want to leave James for more than a few hours, as working with a stubborn Bruce is quite possibly more stressful than any heist he’s ever pulled. Adam doesn’t want to leave Lawrence. Can’t leave Lawrence.

Lawrence is how Adam falls asleep at night, and Adam comforts Lawrence by making sure he never drinks alone. Sean is understandably kicked out of Adam’s bed to go sleep with Matt, as Joel’s been at Omar’s place almost every day, which isn’t the worst trade in the world. Lawrence lets Adam curl in on him, tells Adam stories in a soft voice that calms Adam down and helps his mind and heart mellow out enough to sleep. It’s a much better deal than a year ago, when Joel had him on sleeping pills.

They don’t get drunk every night. Lawrence settles in with a drink or two during or after dinner most nights, and only a few nights a week does it escalate to drunken, sloppy grinding in bed with Adam. Most nights it’s very well-put together grinding, thank you very much. They don’t get drunk every night, no, but there’s this constant buzz shrouding the two of them as a result of frequent day drinking that everyone else recognizes as a problem, but they’ve got more pressing things on their mind for right now.

Sean loves Matt, had told him this two weeks after they first met. Matt’s his very best friend, and Sean gets irrevocably worried after every single heist, because after every single heist, Matt shuts himself away for weeks. They’re lucky if they get a sentence out of him at breakfast. Sean wishes he could be the one to change that, but nothing can change him and the way he acts. It’s too late. It doesn’t keep Sean from wishing, though.

Sean pretends to have trouble sleeping sometimes so that Matt will lie awake with him and rub his back until they both pass out. It makes him feel like a child, but it’s better than feeling like an aching man with burn scars up and down his legs. Sean plays with fire in the back alley behind the apartment when Matt stays late at the gym every few days. He wants Matt to teach him how to fight, since his efforts with Adam have been suspended for the time being, but Matt says “someday” every time, and Sean doesn’t want to face the fact that he’ll have to have James teach him.

Joel deals drugs while they get back into the swing of things, and is uncharacteristically generous with the profits. He keeps enough for his and Omar’s expensive tastes, but the rest goes to the team for car repairs and ammunition. Bruce’s words play on repeat every night before he sleeps, and every morning when he wakes up. He knows they all don’t want him gone, but the ring leader’s sentiments sting him still. 

Elyse misses Joel when he’s not around, which is more and more nowadays. A month after the heist, when Adam still can’t find any small work to do, she misses him the most. Joel’s always there with a snide remark to cheer her up, and she knows he’s only a phone call or a fifteen minute drive away, but she doesn’t want to force him to associate with them while they’re all in this awkward phase between jobs.

He doesn’t say it, but he misses her just as much. Misses them all just as much. Dog Day rolls around once more, but none of them make plans to go. Joel wants to suggest it, wants to reach out to them after weeks of near radio silence, but he figures there’s a better way to do it. So he stays home while Omar has a busy day at the pharmacy. He watches reality TV in his sweatpants and swallows down all the comments he’d make to Elyse if she were there watching it with him.

“You ever get tired of pushing me around?” Bruce asks one day as James wheels him down the block after lunch, just the two of them. Bruce is on his last few days in a wheelchair before Omar’s allowing him to go on one crutch. Omar says Bruce is the luckiest bastard he’s ever seen. The bullet bit in _just_ the right place, not too deep and not too close to the groin, to avoid months and months of recovery. He’s also lucky that his opposite arm and leg are out of commission, instead of having one whole side that’s useless. Omar almost hates him for being so fortunate – he’s seen many more with much worse.

“Never,” James smiles, though Bruce can’t see it. Bruce knows he’s smiling, though. Bruce knows he’s been a little bitch about things, knows he’s yelled at James way too many times during PT sessions, but James is still his buddy, his partner. “It’s a great workout.” Bruce perks up in the chair and turns to speak over his shoulder.

“Wait a minute, are you calling me fat?!” he accuses, and James’ smile widens. It’s relaxing to be out and about, even if Bruce is literally two handfuls. James scoffs at him and intentionally swerves the chair to go over a deep crack near the edge of the sidewalk, and Bruce gasps dramatically. “Hey! You’re trying to kill me!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” James mutters loud enough for Bruce to hear, and they share a quick chuckle before Bruce goes back to checking his phone.

They end up on the roof later that week, when Bruce is finally cleared for a crutch instead of the damn wheelchair. It’s earlier this night, just past midnight, but they’ve both had a long day. Matt kicked James’ ass with a kickboxing workout, and Bruce got frustrated and stormed out of physical therapy that evening. But as they look out at the buildings and streets and sky, it’s as if none of that ever happened. It’s as if Bruce can fully walk again and James doesn’t want to yell and punch every wall he sees.

“Why doesn’t Joel come around anymore?” James asks as their conversation about local baseball dies out. They made plans to go to a game together, but they’ll never follow up. There are more interesting things to do, like going to the shooting range or actually shooting people – _bad guys_ , of course – for real. “Dropping off the drug money doesn’t count as coming around, by the way.”

“Why are you asking _me_?” Bruce inquires, immediately and noticeably going on the defense. He sits in a dark green camp chair that James had begrudgingly carried up for him. The elevator only goes so far, and Bruce’s stair hopping was a workout in and of itself that made him just that much crankier. James makes a quick noise of thought before responding.

“I mean, I met him for coffee a week or two ago, so obviously _I_ don’t have the answer, Poindexter,” James quips, rolling his eyes as he looks at that building across the way again. “You can put your panties back on; I’m not accusing you of anything.” Bruce huffs out a laugh and shakes his head from a ten or fifteen feet behind James. He’d get closer, but he’s admittedly a tad afraid of heights. Just watching James swing his legs off the ledge like that makes his heart rate pick up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get mad or anything,” Bruce tries to apologize. It’s awkward coming out of his mouth. Usually the others are the ones apologizing to _him_ , not the other way around. He makes sure things go according to plan, makes sure everything out of his mouth is calculated and intended. Usually.

“He did tell me something interesting, though,” James informs Bruce casually, body language and tone remaining the same so as not to tip Bruce off to anything.

“Can you really trust Joel, though?”

“He told me that this is the most successful team he’s ever worked with, and he’s been doing this for nearly two decades.” Bruce draws a breath in and furrows his brow, taking those words into consideration as James pauses. “And then he started crying and the whole coffee shop applauded as he waxed poetic about friendship and loyalty. No. He didn’t say that. None of that happened. You know what he told me, Bruce. C’mon.”

James twists around to look at Bruce, and Bruce doesn’t want to meet his eyes. Bruce wants to get angry and storm inside and slam a few beers with Adam while they watch shitty movies. He wants to have a normal night with his normal friends where nothing is complicated and they don’t have to talk about anything they don’t want to. But James is the master of cornering him like this; cornered him about feelings for Elyse a few months back. That issue went unresolved, but James doesn’t look like he’s going to let this one up.

“Again, can you really trust Joel?” Bruce tries to laugh it off, but James can see the sweat start to bead on his forehead, and even in the moonlight he can see Bruce’s cheeks redden with embarrassment or discomfort. Maybe both. Bruce wonders if James kept his crutch by the ledge for a reason, so Bruce couldn’t leave an uncomfortable situation like he always does.

“It’s okay, Bruce,” James comforts him as best as he can with the distance between them. He maneuvers so that he’s facing Bruce while sitting on the ledge, feet now planted firmly on the roof. Bruce feels safer now, for the both of them. “It’s okay to want things like tha–”

“Oh my _gosh_ , James,” Bruce scoffs and looks away from his friend. “James, I was bleeding out. You can’t honestly think I would _want_ something like that on my own accord, can you?”

James heaves a great sigh and rubs his hands together, then brings them to his lips in thought. He keeps his eyes trained on his slipper-clad feet, a new pair that Elyse bought him out of the blue the other day. He thinks of Elyse, thinks of the first time he kissed a man after they got married, thinks of the first time she spent the night with a man who wasn’t him. He doesn’t know how to explain things like that to Bruce, can’t explain the feeling or the situation unless Bruce is on the same page, but Bruce is three miles deep in self-doubt and stubbornness that James doesn’t even know if he should bother.

“Look, Bruce, I remember what it’s like to be in your shoes,” James levels with him as he stands, looking at Bruce once more, who still won’t meet his eyes. “And I’m just gonna say that you could do a _lot_ worse than Joel, okay? Like, it could be Lawrence.” James cringes when Bruce doesn’t laugh at his attempt at humor. “Okay, don’t tell him I said that, we have a date tomorrow.”

“I can’t even put into words how wrong you’ve got all of this,” Bruce mutters and shakes his head with brows raised, putting on his coolest and most nonchalant demeanor. “I don’t–”

“Bruce!” James blurts, eyes wide and arms outstretched like he’s reaching for the man sitting before him. “ _God_ , just talk about your _feelings_ for once!”

“I don’t–”

“Bruce!” he shouts again, takes a step closer. “You’re not listening. I know you’re not listening because you refuse to start a sentence positively.” Bruce turns his head to look at James, and needless to say, he does not look as amused as he should on a rooftop at midnight on a Thursday. 

“Okay, how’s this: I _know–_ ”

“No, you don’t know anything!” James bursts, and Bruce grows even more exasperated. James understands that he’s being the difficult one now, but if it means that he makes even an inch of progress with Bruce, it’s worth the backlash he’ll get in return. “Bruce, I was raised in _just_ as ass-backwards of a house as you were. I come from _just_ as shitty a place, and I know – _you_ don’t know – that every time you got mad at Sean for holding Lawrence’s hand, or at _me_ for kissing Matt goodnight, it was because you were _jealous_ , not angry.”

“Do you ever stop overthinking things?”

“How is it overthinking when it’s right in front of me, clear as day?!” James yells in frustration, but with a smile on his face. He’s not _mad_ at Bruce, but this has gone on too long and James has never been more stressed about someone else’s problems in his goddamn life. “Bruce, I’ve lived it! I’ve been there! And I know that you know it somewhere inside, and maybe you just need someone else to voice it for you, so here it is: it’s _o-fucking-kay_ that you want to kiss on Joel Rubin! We’ve all fucking done it, man!”

“You’re gonna wake the fucking neighbors, James, jeez,” Bruce says lowly, but doesn’t look away. It’s like James’ words have Bruce transfixed, unable to focus on anything but James’ face and the words that fly out of it. James is conflicted; Bruce usually yells in retaliation and denial when James upsets him. The silence is oddly unsettling, even though it should be making James feel triumphant.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” James challenges, folding his arms across his chest now. “I’d _love_ for you to tell me I’m wrong, because I am _sick_ of you giving shit to the people I care about just because you’re blatantly insecure about whatever’s going on inside of you.”

“God, James, you’re my teammate, not my fucking shrink,” Bruce spits back and sinks down lower in the camp chair.

“Yeah, I’m your teammate because everything’s a fucking game to you,” James snorts and rolls his eyes, but he still has that _damn_ smirk on his face. Bruce doesn’t deserve to be yelled at for this, but it seems to be the only way he’ll fucking listen, and luckily, James has weeks of frustration from PT built up to unleash on Bruce right now. “So tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re just another homophobic asshole picking on his cronies and I’ll leave you alone.”

Bruce stares at James, hopes to hurt him with his gaze somehow, hopes that James will get the hint and pick up the crutch from behind him so Bruce can head back downstairs on his own. He doesn’t want to talk right now, and preferably ever, but he’s in a tight spot with James and it’s hell to sit through.

“I’m not,” Bruce replies, shrugging one shoulder. He’s not sure what else there is to say. He knows the lifestyles of all of his friends, knows them a little too well. Bruce would never judge them for a second, which makes this whole confrontation that much harder, because he either has to lie or admit something, as he doesn’t see walking away from James as an option, physically or otherwise.

“Yeah, I know you’re not, which is why I’m so riled up about this,” James tells him. “It’s so much easier to just _not_ be an ass instead of lashing out on people because of your internal confusion.” Bruce looks down at his knees and chews on his lower lip that healed up fairly quickly after the injury.

“It’s hard,” Bruce whispers. James’ expression softens at that, but he’s still waiting for Bruce’s shouting to burst his eardrums, as their arguments usually go. “That’s all I got. I’d like to go to bed now.” James puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head to one side, never really having been perplexed like this before by Bruce.

“Joel’s coming over with Omar tomorrow,” James shrugs and drops his hands, looking relaxed for the first time all day. “He doesn’t deserve more vitriol. He’s a good kid.”

“He’s older than you.”

“He’s a good kid,” James repeats, nodding his head now. “Let’s get you inside; I’ll let Omar change the bandages tomorrow so you don’t have any more reason to hate me tonight.” He turns around and grabs the crutch off the ground, then makes his way over to Bruce to help him up with a sturdy hand. Bruce hates the crutch almost as much as he hates the wheelchair, but it lets him be independent, and it doesn’t get much better than that.

“I don’t hate you, James,” Bruce reasons, “You’re just really good at not minding your own damn business.” James folds up the chair as Bruce begins to hobble back to the door to the stairwell. 

“But you love me for it,” James teases. Bruce doesn’t deny it.

Along with Matt’s hand on his back, Sean falls asleep to James and Bruce trying to keep their laughter to themselves in the hallway. Midnight isn’t terribly late for all of them, but Sean’s gotten lethargic and exhausted lately just from keeping himself cooped up in the apartment. Even Matt gets out more than he does. Matt smiles a genuine smile into Sean’s hair when he hears Bruce and James say their goodnights, and James knocks once on the bedroom door, knowing Matt’s probably not in dreamland yet. It’s their way of saying goodnight without so many words.


End file.
